User blog comment:Biggren/The Northern March Original/@comment-3135907-20151015060553

@Blue:

Cool, soft sand began to give way to hard-packed earth as the hares tramped on; Feffle, who had had the fortunate idea of bringing a small, rough burlap sack, had filled it with what wild vegetation they had collected during their short stay in the shady copse. Far above the two, the harvest moon cast luminous, shimmering rays across the beach and lower brushland, offering more than ample light to their perilous journey away from the farthest reaches of the vermin horde and its night watch patrols, of which Grimear and his young companion were well aware and more than cautious for.

Feffle said little, discerning for once in his short, jovial life that excited speech was a liability at a time like this. It had been some few minutes of this before Feffle fell victim to that which all young hares are wont betimes: hunger. Turning to his stoic captain and rubbing his growling stomach, he whispered, "Er, don't mind if I tuck in th' old feedbag, sah? All this marchin's makin' me jolly peckish, wot. Didn't get but a few swipes in th' dashed old trees back there, y'know."

@Barty:

Bardlin stood up at Serrrano's order and crept along, waving his paws in a wide sweeping signal to the rest of the patrol. Following the hares proved trickier than first expected, although the advent of the brightly-glowing moon through dark cirrus wisps granted immediate relief of much difficulty at all. The hares weren't keeping to much secrecy, and seemed to be walking rather simply on a southeastern tangent.

The vermin lieutenant's grey eyes glittered coldly as he glanced over to Serrano. When the right moment presented itself, they would be ready. And the hares would be theirs.